inued her
scrutiny. Here, again, was no iron safe. There were no ledgers, no
diaries, no note-books, no paraphernalia of business. Nothing but a bare
table and John Turner seated at it, in a much more comfortable chair
than that provided for the client, staring apathetically at a date-case
which stood on a bare mantelpiece.

The lady's eyes returned to the portrait on the wall.

"You used to have a portrait of Louis Philippe there," she said.

"When Louis Philippe was on the throne," admitted the banker.

"And now?" inquired this daughter of Eve, looking at the portrait.

"My maternal aunt," replied Turner, making a gesture with two fingers,
as if introducing his client to the portrait.

"You keep her, one may suppose, as a stop-gap--between the dynasties. It
is so safe--a maternal aunt!"

"One cannot hang a republic on the wall, however much one may want to."

"Then you are a Royalist?" inquired Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence.

"No; I am only a banker," replied Turner, with his chin sinking lower
on his bulging waistcoat and his eyes scarcely visible beneath the heavy
lids.

The remark, coupled with a thought that Turner was going to sleep,
seemed to remind the client of her business.

"Will you kindly ask one of your clerks to let me know how much money
I have?" she said, casting a glance not wholly innocent of scornful
reproach at the table, so glaringly devoid of the bare necessities of a
banking business.

"Only eleven thousand francs and fourteen sous," replied Turner, with a
promptness which seemed to suggest that he kept no diary or note-book on
the table before him because he had need of neither.

"I feel sure I must have more than that," said Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence,
with some spirit. "I quite thought I had."

But John Turner only moistened his lips and sat patiently gazing at the
date. His attitude dimly suggested--quite in a nice way--that the chair
upon which Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence sat was polished bright by the
garments of persons who had found themselves labouring under the same
error.

"Well, I must have a hundred thousand francs to-morrow; that is all.
Simply must. And in notes, too. I told you I should want it when you
came to see me at Royan. You must remember. I told you at luncheon."

"When we were eating a sweetbread aux champignons. I remember perfectly.
We do not get sweetbreads like that in Paris."

And John Turner shook his head sadly.

"Well, will you let me have the money t